Clocks
Racing against backward clocks
I see it slipping away
Like water through finger tips
When it hits the clay
to bone,
He soften his edges
But one look in your eyes
He turns to stone
Still solid inside,
He solemnly pledges
But even the strongest foundations
Can crack at the seams
When time comes to theive,
All thats left is our dreams
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.